Caffeine
by ninitheblacksheep
Summary: That day, Bel knew something was wrong with her Freddie, but she couldn't prepare herself for what he would tell her. -When Freddie told Bel he was leaving The Hour and the death of Freddie's father- oneshot Bel/Freddie


If there was anything Bel Rowley knew, it was Freddie. Bel knew Freddie better than she knew herself. Young journalist extraordinaire, a cynical genius at the age of 26. The most distorted, depressed view of the world yet probably the most passionate man she'd ever met. The man who had worked his way up from nothing for one reason; the newsreels were dead. Bel knew Freddie better than anyone or anything. This meant she knew when he was troubled by the twitch of his jawline or the shade over his eyes. The roughness of his fingernails that implied incessant gnawing and biting, the way his hand dragged over his face and ran through his hair slick with grease, the lines creasing his forehead, the way he inhaled a cigarette. That's why, that one winters day at Lime Grove studios, the absence of Freddie combined with the crashing and clattering of a human body colliding or falling down something caused Bel to immediately feel a frisson of fear. It was freezing that day. The world around her looked as if it had been encased in cool white marble, crystals of ice hugging everything in sight. Snow had come, and gone, then come again. The Hour's loyal team were wrapped up in wool, scarves, coats with the collars turned up. Every now and then it would start to snow, and Isaac or Sissy would say 'It's snowing again,' and everyone else would nod in acknowledgement. She heard the sound while forcing her numb fingers over the typewriter and allowed a wave of worry to flood her before rocketing from her desk and following the noise. When she found Freddie he was on the second floor at the bottom of the stairs picking himself up from the hard ground and staring into the sea of disorganised papers that had gushed from his brief case.

"Freddie!" she called as she made her way down to the frazzled looking man.

"Moneypenny," he called back slightly quieter than usual "I, well, I-"

"Fell down the stairs?" Bel finished promptly, looking into his dark eyes like a mother would look upon a clumsy child.

"Well I was actually making my way up when I realised I had forgotten something downstairs so I-"

"Turned around and fell down the stairs?"

He didn't say anything but pressed his lips together reluctant agreement.

"Did you hurt anything, are you alright?"

By then he had bent down to collect the documents scattered across the floor, but winced in pain and clutched his lower back as he did so. "No, it's fine," he spoke dismissively, obviously unaware Bel had noticed.

"Come on," Bel sighed "Let me help you with those,"

There was a silence as the two shuffled around on the floor, neatly stacking every smudged document or photograph.

"You really should be more careful you know. I don't want to have to visit you in the hospital every day when you do your back in," she smiled. A ghost of a grin crossed his lips and it as at that point that Bel noticed him for the first time that day. His expression hung from his face like clothes on a washing line, red rimmed eyes drooping in their sunken state, dark lips chapped with a ring of red under the mouth from licking it too much in the bitter weather. Somehow he seemed lankier than usual, his sharp shoulders jutting from his torso and the Adam's Apple in his neck looking even more prominent. Freddie had always been one of those people who managed to look fragile whatever the mood or circumstances, but this was worse than usual. Like he could, or he would, crumble like mouldy newspapers at a touch. As he fumbled for the latch on his briefcase, his spindly fingers digging at the simple metal lock like a squirrel would hammer on hard shell for a nut, he resembled a frightened child more than Bel had ever seen.

Once they had both climbed to their feet, Freddie with some difficulty, not even trying to hide the twinge of pain in his back anymore, brusquely took the papers from Bel and shoved them in his briefcase. There was another silence where Bel stared into Freddie's eyes but he didn't stare back, obviously aiming to avoid eye contact.

"Thank you," he muttered insincerely while scraping a hand over his forehead and pressing past her. She grabbed his arm "Where are you going?"

"…To work? That I'm late for,"

"Is something wrong Freddie?" she demanded, succumbing to her ever present urge to protect him.

"Nothing, it's not important Bel, it's really not,"

"Freddie,"

He said nothing. She could feel the freezing bone of his elbow through his tweed jacket. Even more than usual it looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep. He didn't have to say anything else for Bel to realise he wanted to talk.

"I'll go up there and tell them that you're here, wait for me outside,"

"It's freezing outside,"

"Get your coat then,"

She came for him, armed with two coffees and a paper bag transparent with grease. He exhaled heavily, cigarette smoke mingling with the whiteness of breath in frozen air. He didn't want to talk, but if he was going to he would rather it be with Bel than anyone else. She was the only person in the whole world that he really trusted. She reached in the bag and pulled out a muffin, no chocolate, handed it to him, then handed him a coffee. Likewise she had brought a chocolate muffin for herself and her own coffee. And so they stood together, in a miasma of tobacco smog and street-smell, sipping from tall coffees while avoiding conversation for as long as possible.

"Can you tell me what's wrong now?" she pushed, although, after thinking about it she already thought she knew.

"My head…my head aches terribly," he cursed, pinching the bridge of his nose and forcing his eyes shut, creasing the surrounding skin.

"Freddie you look terrible, what's the matter, please,"

He turned to look at her. Skin glowing, rosy cheeks, golden hair falling to her shoulders like strips of velvet ribbon. He knew she had been fatigued lately due overworking and stress, yet it only hinted on her face. She was so beautiful. More so than any other person he knew or had ever known. As he watched long red fingernails stoke the straightness of her coffee cup, he merely felt an overwhelming sadness that she would never be his.

"My father…" he started, swallowing, struggling to croak the words off "Dad, he…he died last night,"

Bel felt her heart plummet to the floor. Sick. She felt sick.

"Oh my god," she whimpered before taking the taller man's svelte frame in her arms tightly "Freddie…"

"In his sleep," he whispered "I woke up in the middle of the night, to check on him I mean, and…"

She felt like crying. She had barely known Freddie's ill father, but that had nothing to do with it.

Before she knew it, the young man began to tremble in her grip "Bel," he spoke, his voice cracked with emotion "He didn't remember me,"

She really did feel sick now.

"I came home yesterday and he didn't know who I was. He was frightened of me. I-I frightened him, he thought I was an intruder. He thought I was coming to ransack his apartment…like Mr Kish,"

She could only hold him tighter, but felt tears pricking at the back of her eyes.

"Freddie…I'm so sorry. Why did you have to tell me that, that's absolutely awful,"

"I can't do this, Bel, I can't do this, I can't-he died with a bare knowledge of who I am I-"

Bel loosened her grip on him, staring up into his sunken face. He caverns of his eyes echoed with conflict, with war. The tears had reddened the tip of his nose, his lips, his eyelids. What was he even doing at work? She wanted to tell him to go home and sleep, but she knew he would neither go home, nor sleep. His mind would be haunted with memories, 'what ifs', stories, images, ghosts. He would drink into the night, smoke cigarette after cigarette and never feel better. Bel knew he would. He was Freddie.

"I'm going away," he croaked almost silently but with an unexpected firmness "I'm going…somewhere. I'm getting away from here, I can't do this anymore,"

No.

This couldn't be happening. Freddie couldn't leave, she must have been dreaming. The image of life without Freddie flashed through her mind and she felt grim. But she couldn't argue with him. His father had just died, how could she tell him to stay with her for her own sake? Her heart hurt, swelled in her chest. Freddie…Freddie couldn't leave. Freddie Lyon, her partner in crime, her soul mate, her best friend, her everything. Together they had caused chaos, taken over the newsreels, caused scandals, battled with the law and gotten away with it. He couldn't leave…

She couldn't do this on her own.

Bel nodded, clenching her teeth together to stop her from breaking down "I…I understand Freddie,"

As snow began to fall, all they had was each other for the last time in what would come to seem like years and years and years. And hours later, the rapidly falling snow would bury the two cigarette butts and their conversation would become history. But it didn't matter, because Bel knew Freddie better than she knew herself, and she knew this wasn't the end. More than anything else. After all, James was nothing without his Moneypenney.

**Er hey first fic for The Hour, sorry it's so short :( I really haven't written anything in ages and ages but the hour just…omg I love it more than oxygen, it's amazing. Ben Whishaw as Freddie was a match made in heaven. The characters are so well defined and easy to explore, I couldn't resist writing this little ficlet :D Anyway no I didn't research whether they had muffins in the 1950's-60's, or go into that much detail about the symptoms of dementia so I'm pretty sure this is riddled with stuff to complain about but go easy on me coz just do.**

**Thanx**

**-kiki, nini, whatever I call myself these days :P**


End file.
